Possession
by Deepy
Summary: a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected, in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness, it took entire possession of him, and he understood..that this was for life.' [Thomas Mann] The complications of loving an enemy. JacksonLisa
1. The Night is My Companion

He didn't know the exact moment when she went from becoming his target to his obsession. Romantics might say it was that moment when he first looked into her eyes, when he first heard her speaking to him, smiling at him. They might even say that he fell then. Realist would say it was those eight weeks watching her go through her routine, along with the past few weeks that he had watch her take on a completely different routine. Jackson thought it was an unhealthy amount of both, combined with that moment of intimacy (if one could call it that) that they had on the plane, when she had showed him a part of her soul that he hadn't seen, right before all hell broke loose. That look that they exchanged when it was over, the look that said, "I understand." The look that finally established them as equals.

Maybe it was that. She was his equal, someone who could hurt him just as much as he hurt her; someone who was stronger now, who was more confident and sure of herself. When she smiled now, it was genuine. That was one thing that Jackson could give himself credit for, a boast to the ego she had partially shattered. He had torn her flimsy shell down and had built her into something stronger, something perfect (as perfect as any human can be). The Galatea to his Pygmalion.

After a stressful meeting between him and the other managers that left him wanting to throw a knife at someone, when one of his own dogs fucked up an assignment, or even when he couldn't sleep. It was during those times he found himself near her but not able to touch her. The sound of her voice, the way she walked, her face, would be a balm to his unsettled mind. A forbidden fruit made human that he could not reach, the stone that would not come alive. And he would sit there, either in a car outside or on the roof across, just watching, until her light went out. Every time, he said to himself that it would be that last, but he would always come back.

Why?

Perhaps he was crazy. That's it. He was probably fuckin' nuts, already passed the threshold of stalker. He knew that if she ever found out, it would probably give her more cause to write her own self-help book and he didn't want that. Who knows, maybe he actually cared about her and her mental and emotional state, which would be a wreck if he ever came back. Shit, he did, and he hated himself for caring. But that didn't stop it.

There was no harm, he told himself. He wasn't looking at her when she undressed, he wasn't following her around everywhere. He just needed to see her for a while, in her element, doing those small things that endeared her to him.

There he said it, he admitted it, he felt something for her. Something that had to do with a constricting of the chest and a pounding heart. Now he knew he was crazy. Who in their right mind would fall for someone who not only succeeded in beating the shit out of them but also causing them to fuck up their job? Jackson had an answer, a fool. An obsessed fool. Though like hell he would ever admit any of that to her

Then sometimes, when looking was not enough, he would come in, through the front door, silent as the dark. Of course, that was after a lengthy session of pros and cons (with the cons outweighing the pros). But nights like that, temptation proved too much and in no time at all, he would find himself through her front door, in her bedroom, and next to her bed. He would watch her breathe, her form rising and falling, stirring the tendrils of hair that fell over her face. Jackson would reach over, hesitate, and finally tuck those stray strands behind her ear, his hand lingering there, not daring to move farther. Times like that, he was tempted to touch her, really touch her, and see if her skin was as soft as he remembered.

But he always stops short of doing so, restricting himself to just her hair, in case by some cruel twist of fate, she wakes up. So, he would relish the feeling of being in the same room with her and slowly leave, taking one last look at her and telling himself that it would never happen again. Though in some small part of his mind, he knows that it's just a lie, it's never the last time. Not even close.

Maybe one of these days, he will actually touch her and maybe then, her skin will be warm and soft. Maybe one day, the two of them will no longer be enemies, but something closer than that. And maybe, pigs will fly.

Maybe…one of these days…

* * *

A/N:

I couldn't help myself. This is what happens to listening to Sarah McLachlan at 12 at night. I'm sorry for the lack of dialogue but when one's doing a vignette, that's the unfortunate side effect. And besides, we hardly get to see what's inside Jackson's mind. I hope he didn't come off as too OOC here. And if anyone's wondering, Pygmalion was a Greek sculptor who made a statue of his idea of an ideal woman and fell in love with it. I thought it was kind of fitting since Lisa became stronger because of Jackson and I think that kind of strength would appeal to him and his ego.

I may just continue this, I might not. Depends on how the input goes. Which means, please review and tell me what you think.


	2. Memories Trapped in Time

A/N: Here is the requested second part. Though with this addition, I fear I may have unleashed a commitment I'm not sure I can swear loyalty to. In other words, I suck at keeping up chaptered stories. But stupid ideas kept swimming around my brain. Which is why this update was so long in coming because I tried to fight it. As you can see, I lost. But that's neither here nor there. Enjoy!

Oh! And another note, beware, here follows yet another rewrite of the bathroom scene. Overdone, I know, but I hope you find something different in this interpretation. Enjoy!

* * *

It was the same thing again.

There was an old saying, stuck between a rock and a hard place. She had gotten a hands on experience of that two years ago, during that day in the parking lot. The feeling of helplessness, degradation, and violation had made her sick to the stomach, made her hate herself. And she hated herself now, her own body, her own conscious, frail, allowing the same thing to happen again. 'You made a promise' her mind shouts to her, 'Keep it!' She had promised to never to let it happen again yet here she was, once again trapped. If she could find humor in this sad situation, she'd laugh at the irony.

Maybe she could reason with him, maybe she could make him see that he didn't have to do any of it. After all, the bad guys in the movies couldn't really all be bad. They must have a conscience.

"You don't have to do this," she pleads, "any of this." 'Please, please understand.'

She watches as his eyes searches her. And for a moment, there is a glimmer of hope, maybe, maybe. Then, all hope leaves as she sees his eyes travel downward, feels his thumb graze against her skin. The forbidden part. The secret part. His breath, which had been coming out hard and fast before, seems to stop.

'No, not there.'

Her heart quickens as his eyes moves back up to her face.

"Someone do that to you?" His eyes are different, they've changed somehow. Softer, not as harsh. His voice lowers, close to a whisper.

She might have even called it concerned, if the rational part of her mind had not spoken up. 'Don't be fooled. Don't say anything, he doesn't need any more leverage against you.' "No," she answers, trying to sound nonchalant. Pretend it's an old scar, from a childhood accident, like a treefall. Yes...pretend...

This time, it's different. His eyes, they don't harden. There is no suspicion. There is only understanding. He bends down, she feels his hair against her collarbone.

"You're lying." His breath is warm against her skin.

She shakes. What is he doing? This isn't how it's supposed to happen. He whispers something, she strains to hear it. She can feel him speaking. What is it? Sorry? Why is he sorry for that? She can't speak, she doesn't know how to respond.

But before she _can_ respond, she feels his lips. Something light, almost feathery. Kisses. Barely discernable, flowing over the raised skin, over that hateful mark. She suddenly has trouble breathing. 'What are you doing? This isn't how it's supposed to happen. Fight it!' She tries to, but she can't seem to move. Her hands press against the wall, looking for something, anything to use. She needs to push him away, this was going too far. Then, she feels a hand on her waist, gasped at the feel of fingers crawling underneath her top. Touches, caresses, warm…soft…don't stop…

She opens her eyes. Her hand reaches instinctively to her neck, to her chest. Nothing, nobody. Her hands reach up to cover her face. What was that? That wasn't normal.

Of course, these days, normal dreams usually consisted of her living out the Red Eye flight. No matter how stable her life had become ever since the incident, no matter how confident _she_ had become, the dreams still came.

Some nights, it would be reliving that phone call, other nights the breakdown in the bathroom. And most nights…_him_, drinking at the bar, the check-in line, the airplane bathroom… She hated those dreams that most. It was then she could see his face so clear, even the color of his ice-blue eyes and the way his hair fell across his forehead. And in those dreams, she was reliving those scenes over again. She would say the same lines and he would hurt her, taunt her, make her feel weak and miserable. She hated the dreams.

Tonight, though, tonight was the first night where something had changed. He had done something different. It was like the dream became not a memory, but a situation. One where she couldn't predict what was to happen, and couldn't control it. Her hand travels to her neck, rubbing it. She feels dirty, just like she did when…'the rape happened.' It was still hard to name it, but these days, it was easier. She attributed that to her newfound confidence.

'We need to get a boyfriend,' her mind tells her. 'Give us something else to dream about. Someone cute…' Maybe that guy who asked her out a week ago, what was his name? William…Wesley…whatever. 'At this rate, it's a miracle you don't turn lesbian.' True, very true. She might as well give up on men altogether, thanks to he who should not be named. It wasn't that she found men repugnant, but she just wasn't interested in any of the men who came to the Lux, all the ones who never hesitated to ask for her number or offered to buy her a drink (thankfully, not a sea breeze).

"Incredibly gorgeous," Cynthia would exclaim. "What's the problem with him?" she would ask as each guy walks away, rejected.

"I don't know," Lisa would answer. She really didn't know.

Who knows, maybe she was a lesbian already and has not had the pleasure of meeting the right woman. 'Yeah, right.'

Yup, she definitely needed a date. Of course, she also needed to sleep and right now, that was more important. She rolls around to her other side and closes her eyes. Silence, complete silence, save for the sound of the cars outside and the turning of the lock on her front door. Her eyes open again. Lock? It couldn't be Dad visiting, not at this time of night. Shit.

She silently gets out of bed. The door isn't yet opened but by the time she got to it, it will be. She kneels down and fumbles around underneath the bed for her field hockey stick. Her fingers make purchase and she secures the wooden weapon in her grasp. Getting up, she makes her way for the doorway to her bedroom. As she stands against the wall, she could hear the opening of the door in the darkness. She strains her ears to try to pick up the sound of the stranger's footsteps; they could hardly be made out in the silence.

He's coming towards the bedroom. Her grip tightens on the hockey stick. Then, she hears his breath, an almost inaudible sound in the darkness, coming closer. His silhouette appears next to her, looking straight ahead. She strikes, bringing down her hockey stick as hard as she can. To her surprise, it is met by an arm, which grabs a hold of it. Shit, this is not good.

'No worries, be calm.' She gives a kick and with satisfaction, hears a grunt. But that doesn't do as much damage as she thinks because the next thing she knows, her back hits the wall. She feels the light switch press against her back and is blinded by the sudden wave of light. When her vision clears, she gasps at what she sees. Blue eyes. Ice-blue eyes.

"Hello Lisa."

Nope, this was definitely not good

* * *

A/N: You're probably wondering why a hockey stick. Well, rewatching the movie, Lisa had more luck in the beating Jackson up with the stick than with the gun. And besides, I would think she'd be more at home with the hockey stick than with a gun. But the stick worked better than the gun did for this particular scenario so that's the real reason. I hope I kept Lisa in character, I like to think of her as a happier, more self-aware person now. And that's why we need to bring Jackson back in since he has a complete knack for screwing with people's lives.

Of course, review and tell me what you think.


	3. Trying to Find an Honest Word

A/N: I would just like to say, thank you so much for the reviews. All who reviewed, you guys made my day (and this has been the fastest I have ever updated a chaptered story). But, I have to admit, I am still waiting for that dreaded criticism that says this storyline has been overdone or something of the sort. That's why I'm hoping for some originality to come (if it has not come already). I haven't read all of the stories in the Red Eye section so I have no idea what is original and what isn't. Right now, I'm just writing and whatever comes, comes. But don't worry, there is a storyline.

Which reminds me; storyline-wise, this won't be an adventure story with Lisa and Jackson running for their lives. I don't have enough confidence in myself to do that and besides, I love doing character pieces and I consider this one longer than normal. The only thing that will be keeping these two lovebirds apart will be themselves. I'm trying to make this as realistic as I can and we all know in real life, we only choose to stay separate from those we're interested in due to our own pride issues. But that's an issue for a blog. On to the story!

Warning: Dialogue-heavy.

* * *

Jackson knew one day she would find out, that he would be caught and there would be no way out that didn't end up getting both of them hurt. Yet, what the hell made him continue this little charade?

He didn't know. Actually, in that part of his brain that he liked to keep silent and hidden knew, but he'll be damned before he ever let that part of the brain do the talking. So here he was, face to face with his nemesis, his equal, and not knowing how the hell he was going to get out of this situation intact. 'That was what you get for playing with fire,' his mind said.

Despite his keen foresight, despite him knowing that she would eventually catch him, Jackson never really planned what exactly he would say to her when they met again (or how he would say it for that matter). So, he resorted to his safety net, sarcasm (with a hint of taunting).

"Hello Lisa," he said, adding that sarcastic drawl to his voice for good measure. "Miss me?"

"You're dead. You're supposed to be dead," were the first things that came out to her mouth. To his surprise, he did not see any fear in her eyes, only anger (which he did not blame her for), and something else. Was it expectation? Relief, even?

"Really Leese, I would think you'd be more perceptive than that. As you can see, I'm very much alive." Though at the end of their last meeting, just barely, thanks to her. But he didn't tell her that.

"Do you wanna tell me how so I can kill you again?"

He smiled; she was still as spirited as ever. This seemed like such a change from the polite, almost shy woman who he had met at the airport.

"Now now, empty threats are no way to greet an old friend."

"Oh no, this isn't empty." And she did something that he didn't think she would do.

She head-butted him. Despite his keen foresight, he really hadn't expected that. Damn her, that hurt like hell. And it was also enough to send him reeling back a few steps, which enabled Lisa to get her hockey stick back. When he finally got the throbbing to subside, he saw himself lying on her bed, with her hockey stick against his throat.

If they had been on more amiable terms, he would have considered his present position to be a very positive turn of events. Sadly, at the moment, that was not the case.

"Don't move or I swear to God, Jackson, I will bash your head in. To hell with the consequences," Lisa said warningly. He could tell by her voice that she meant it.

Jackson knew that to do anything else at this point would just aggravate her further and somehow, he didn't want that. So he stayed put. In another time and place, he would have easily unarmed her but right now, he wasn't here to fight her (despite her thinking to the contrary). And that small part of his brain told him that he didn't want to. He hated that part.

But on a positive note, from here, he could admire her, with her hair ruffled, dressed in her blue pajamas with cups of coffee on them (he always got a smile from her choice of bed wear). She looked adorable.

"You have me pinned," he said to her.

She looked at him with suspicion but did not move her hockey stick. "Good. Now…what are you doing here Jackson?"

He shrugged, "I was in town, thought I'd come by to say hello."

This caused Lisa to raise an eyebrow, "To say hello, at 2 in the morning."

"I prefer night-time visits."

"And why is that Jackson? Is it easier to kill someone when they're sleeping? And here I thought you had more class than that."

"Why do you assume that I'm here to kill you?" 'Might as well get the hard question out now,' though he probably knew the answer to said question.

"This is a joke, right?" She said, incredulously. "I fucked up your assignment, I stabbed you with a pen, I shot you! Oh, and let's not forget you tried to kill me once!"

"You also forgot that part where you jabbed your shoe into my thigh." Funny, he wasn't so angry about that anymore, though he remembered being very angry (furious even) at her during his recovery. Even now, he had to wonder what had changed.

"You know what Jackson, I might as well just beat you to a pulp now and save myself the trouble later," she said, with that tone of voice which showed him that if he said anything wrong, all hell would break loose.

"You don't want to do that Leese. Especially since I'm not here to kill you." And even now, Jackson was surprised to see that that fact was true.

She looked at him for a moment, as if not wanting to believe it was true. He didn't blame her. "So why are you here?"

"Visiting." It was as simple as that, amazingly.

Lisa looked like she didn't believe it, but he could tell she wanted to. That was one of her charms, she always believed the best in people, even if one of them was someone who tried to kill her and who nearly ruined her life.

"Really, and I suppose you just wanted to come in for some nighttime coffee and knocking on the door was too much of a hindrance?" She replied, sarcastically. He had to admit, he liked this new, sarcastic Lisa. She was much more entertaining to talk to.

"Well, I knew you would never let me in. Not that I blame you."

"You're damn right I wouldn't have. You tried to kill me!" He saw her starting to shake. That's when he knew he needed to leave, she was going to break and do something rash (and painful) in a moment. The concept that he wasn't going to kill her seemed to be too much for her at the moment. Jackson knew that he wasn't going to convince her in one night the goodness of his intentions.

Well, his intentions were not exactly good (per say) but at least they didn't involve anybody dying.

"Well Leese, as much as I am enjoying this stimulating conversation, we may need to cut it short tonight." And with those words, he did something she did not expect, he kicked her legs from under her, causing her to fall from the ground with what seemed like a painful thump. Using the shock from that fall to his advantage, he quickly got up and ran across the room towards the door. Turning back, he saw her clutching her head. A part of him felt remorse for doing that to her, but the other parts told him that since she hit him with the hockey stick and threatened him, it was fair. "Goodnight Leese, we'll talk again." With that, he disappeared through the door.

When he was out of her sight, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, both from the exertion and from being near her and talking to her. He had not felt so elated in some time. Jackson knew he would, no doubt, see her again, especially when she was awake. And though he dreaded her reaction, he also looked forward to it.

"Well, that went well," he said to himself.

When Lisa got up again, she ran to the door as fast as she can. But it was too late, Jackson had already disappeared. She closed the door and quickly locked it, and, for good measure, placed a chair underneath it. She also made a mental note to have her lock changed as soon as possible, though in the back of her mind, she knew that if Jackson wanted in, a new set of lock wasn't going to be much of a hindrance. Lisa also knew that she would not be sleeping that night. Though there was one thing that kept repeating itself over and over in her head.

'What the hell just happened?'

* * *

A/N: Yes, I can hear your screams of disappointment as to no Lisa/Jackson action. My reasoning is that after everything these two have gone through, they would not be so inclined to jump each other's bones on their first reunion. Well, Lisa wouldn't, I'm not too sure about Jackson. But no worries, I already have that part of the story written up so I know what I'm writing towards. Remember, good things come to those who wait.

I hope that Jackson and Lisa were in character. The dialogue just felt natural to me as I was writing it, especially when you see how he was acting towards Lisa at the Tex Mex. I also noticed that Lisa does have a bit of a potty mouth, but considering that she had just seen her worst nightmare (or dream boyfriend) again, I wouldn't blame her for letting her tongue loose. But I digress.

Review, and such, you know the drill. Reviews feed the muse and makes her churn out chapters faster.


	4. Unwilling Sleep

A/N: So I was debating whether or not to have another stand-off in this chapter. And if I wasn't going to, what will I put in instead? And if I did, what will I write after? Ahh decisions decisions. And you can find out what I decided to do by reading. Evil isn't it? Well, here it is.

* * *

Lisa applied her make up more carefully than normal that morning. The longer she took, the more time she could avoid going to work. Normally, she didn't mind going to work (her job was, after all, her life). But today, the prospect of pretending to be cordial, and sweet to people who didn't give a damn about anyone except themselves, seemed dismal. All she wanted to do was to stay home, organize her thoughts, and form an attack strategy. But sadly, work was work. 

So she took care to hide the shadows under her eyelids and to make sure her cheeks looked rosy instead of pale. But when it came to putting on her eyeliner, the pencil kept shaking in her grasp. Wiping the smudged line away, she set the pencil down on her vanity table.

All of a sudden, Lisa found herself struggling to breathe. 'Oh god, oh god oh god oh god.' Her heart pounded against her chest, hard and fast. She put a hand on the table to steady herself, putting the other hand on her head. Sometime wet tickled the side of her eyes. 'No! No! Suck it up, he doesn't deserve it.' She wasn't that person anymore. Lisa was not going to shed another tear for Jackson Rippner. Nor was she going to panic.

'Be calm, you'll figure it out.'

She finished putting on her eyeliner, careful to avoid a smear.

At 7:30, she walked into the lobby of the Lux Atlantic with a latte in her hand and her purse in the other.

"Good morning Cynthia," she said to the blond haired receptionist, smiling her usual cheerful smile.

"Good morning Lisa. The Sandersons checked in late last night, apparently their flight was delayed but luckily, we kept their room for them. And the Garrisons complained of the temperature on their rooms so I sent up Dan and maintenance."

Since the incident months ago, Lisa was not the only one who had gained some needed confidence. Some of it had also rubbed off on Cynthia who has since lowered the number of calls she made to Lisa in times of "emergencies." Of course, that did not mean that she never made such calls anymore.

"Thanks Cynthia, it's good to know that everything went smoothly last night. Now, if you need anything, I'll be in the office."

"Paperwork?"

"You bet, that's how you know it's the morning."

Cynthia looked at her strangely, cocking her head a bit to her side, as if trying to get a better look. "Are you feeling all right Lisa?"

"Of course, why?" Did she put on too much blush?

"You just look really tired." Damnit, the make-up obviously didn't work.

"Just some insomnia," Lisa replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Bad dreams?" asked Cynthia, her voice sympathetic. Cynthia was one of the few who actually knew the details of the Red Eye flight and was concerned whenever Lisa had a bad dream (which was often). Of course, the bad dreams have never caused Lisa to lose sleep before.

"The worst." That was an understatement.

"I can recommend to you this great cover-the-counter drug that takes care of it in a snap, it works like a charm."

"Thanks Cynthia, but I'm working on getting rid of it."

"Are you sure?"

These days, Lisa didn't mind it so much when people asked her if she was sure. Then again, she only allowed those who closest to her ask her that question. But even today, Lisa had to fight to prevent herself from snapping at the girl, she was only trying to be a good friend. At the moment though, Lisa only wanted some alone time, even if it was with paperwork.

"Yes, I am." She smiled, hoping that Cynthia would not ask anymore questions.

"If you say so, Leese," Cynthia replied, still looking concerned.

Lisa stayed in the office longer than usual that day, trying to minimize her time on the floor as much as possible. And the hours she was behind the counter, she tried her best to keep from screaming at the guests or looking over her shoulders.

The third time she caught herself jumping at the sight of anyone who was dark haired and the same stature, or anyone came up behind her back, she mentally slapped herself. Damn it! Damn him! She was being paranoid.

'Get it together Lisa. He can't do anything to you.' That made her feel better (though not much). The rest of the day passed by slowly, with Lisa acting cautious but trying to pretend nothing was wrong. And when the hour came for her shift to be over, she almost breathed a sigh of relief.

That night, she slept with her hockey stick hidden beside her. Well, more like laying there listening for any sound of doors opening. He did not come. But the knowledge of that fact did nothing to make her feel better. Lisa knew that Jackson will make sure they meet again. So she fell into an uneasy sleep and awoke the next day with dark circles under her eyes. She put on heavier concealer that day.

The next day, she called to have her lock changed. That night, sleep did not come any easier.

This continued for about a week.

"Maybe I should just call the cops and let them take care of him," she said to herself on the 8th day. But she knew that it was not smart to do that. What could the authorities do? Track him down? They hadn't been able to do so before? They all thought he was dead before. No, Lisa would take care of Jackson and she would take care of it by her own means.

She opened the door to her apartment carefully, scanning the living room and the kitchen. Nobody there.

She yawned, her shift had been 16 hours and she had had to continually reapply her makeup. The dark circles would, after all, scare the guests. 'Good thing Dad hasn't seen them or else he'd be scared too.' Goodness knows Cynthia was worried for her.

Throughout her dinner, she could not stop yawning. Not getting enough sleep the past few days was really getting to her. It's okay, she would just concentrate on the movie. After all, "Roman Holiday" was her favorite. Her eyelids grew heavy as looked at the TV, trying to keep them open. After all, Audrey Hepburn was riding around Rome with Gregory Peck, she loved that part. How exciting, she wished she was in Rome…with no responsibilities…no cares…it would be…so…romantic…

She was on a boat. A breeze was blowing and it felt cool against her skin. There was a party, going on around her. The lighting was dim but she could hear the music. Not hip-hop or any of the things they played in clubs, but real music. Instrumental music that had everyone around her dancing. Romantic music. And she was alone, in the middle of the floor. She looked around, but there was no one except the couples. For some reason, that made her sad. Then again, she hasn't slow danced in some time so why in the world was she sad?

But when she turned around again there he was. Standing there, as if he was waiting for her. She stepped closer to him. He put his arm around her waist and took her hand with the other. And they danced, and she didn't protest. It was all right though, she felt safe. He wasn't going to hurt her. Who was he? She couldn't see. But he was familiar, though she didn't know how.

Still swaying with him, she placed her head on his shoulder. This was okay. He smelled familiar. But she couldn't pinpoint it. Oh well, this was nice, she'll ask his name later.

The music was coming to an end. And they were slowing down. Slow…then stop. They stepped apart. His hand was still in hers. The other hand was near her face. He hesitated, then touched her hair, tucking the strands hanging in front of her face behind her ears. His hand lingered there.

She took her hand and placed it over his, it felt warm. This was okay.

Lisa's eyes opened. It was dark. And all she could see were the pair of ice blue eyes in front of her.

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…I'm a bit mean huh. I figured two stand-offs so close together was a bit much. And besides, I wanted to write about Lisa's life and her day to day without Jackson. Anyone is wondering, in "Roman Holiday," Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck dance together on a boat so I thought it would be nice to do a boat scene. And that also gave me an excuse to have our favorite couple dancing together.

I have some bad news, my dear readers. I'm leaving for New York so that means that the next update will be later than normal. Hopefully, if I can get access to a computer, I can write and maybe post (I have the dialogue for the next chapter partially written). Depends though… Until then, sorry for the boring chapter, I know it wasn't that exciting. Then again, Lisa's life is pretty boring, no fixing that. But I'm comfortable with this kind of pacing for the story, I hope you are too.

Okay, review and tell me what you think.


	5. You Don't Know Me

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm back home now. I hope no one was dying in waiting for this next installment. Let me tell you, it was not easy to write because I had to edit some things out that I wanted for later and put some things in that fit. All in all, not a fun process. Enjoy!

P.S. I would like to thank Out There for her help in this chapter. I had a bit of a block and she pushed me along. Thanks babe!

* * *

Jackson knew for sure that Lisa did not want to see him again. In fact, he also knew that another encounter would not go any smoother than the first. But that did not stop him from going to see her again. Work had been shit that day, consisting of cleaning up messes that weren't his. The old saying was true, if you want something done right, you just had to do it yourself. In Jackson's line of work, that was a motto that has had a ninety nine percent success rate.

The one percent rate of failure was lying right in front of him.

A logical man would have taken the very loud and painful hint from the other night and head in the opposite direction. Once upon a time, Jackson would have done the same thing. He would have just taken the opportunity Lisa presented to him and would have just made a clean break, bruised ego and all. In fact, he had almost did.

What happened?

Lisa. He smiled to himself at the tragic irony of it all.

He hadn't been surprised to find that she had changed the lock. In fact, he was amused by the futility of it. When he opened the door, he had expected to find her with her hockey stick in hand, ready to injure him severely at a moment's notice. Instead, he found a Sleeping Beauty on a couch, with a plate of uneaten food on the coffee table and the television on some infomercial.

He had approached her quietly, as not to wake her. He had flipped off the TV, setting the remote down silently. Then, he had kneeled down beside her and just looked at her, watching her in her sleep, as was his routine nowadays.

As he watched her, he had to admit, he almost preferred her asleep. No spiteful words, no looks of anger, no threat to hurt him if he moved an inch. She couldn't hurt him when he was asleep…

Watching her then, his hand had traveled to the spot right beneath his Adam's apple. To the rough patch of skin that had never really healed perfectly. It had hurt and yet, when he thought back on it, he couldn't help but admire how ingenious it had been. Then again, looking back on that point in the scheme, Lisa Reisert had exhibit herself to be full of surprises, the pen being the best one.

She had turned out to be so different than he had expected. Then again, he shouldn't have been so surprised. Most people, after all, act differently under periods of intense stress.

Hopefully, there weren't any pens stowed inside her pajama bottoms. Then again, he wouldn't put it beyond her.

Of course, he had to wonder what twist of fate found it humorous to have her wake up right then. That had been happening a lot lately, which was either a good or bad thing, depending on how he looked at it. At the moment, it was bad. He knew he should have never have come, that he should have already left, that he had stayed there way too long. When her eyes opened, he braced himself for the worst.

The first instinct Lisa had when she saw Jackson right beside her was a common one, since it was nighttime and he was in her personal space. She screamed.

That didn't last long however; she was soon silenced, by Jackson's hand. "Shhh Leese, you don't want to disturb your neighbors do you?" he softly chided.

If Lisa did not panic before, she figured now was a good time for her to do so. She tried in vain to get as much space between him as she could. Sadly, the distance was limited by the couch space right behind her.

Trying to calm down, and think of a way out, she put her hand over Jackson's, and tried in vain to pull his hand away from her mouth. Needless to say, he didn't budge.

"Relax Leese, breathe." When he told her to breathe, she suddenly remembered the airport bathroom. Being stuck in a tight place with no where to go. Feeling threatened and defenseless. She remembered him, especially him, and his voice. The way he spoke. The same elongation of syllable, the same vocal intonation, that almost soothing quality…she struggled harder.

Her hands went to his shoulders and she tried to push him away. His other hand went to the arm of the couch, and this prevented her from moving him away.

"Calm down. You'll only make this worst. Breathe. In and out." His voice was more forceful this time but they still retained their chilling calmness. She recalled that he never did raise his voice higher than a conversational drone. Somehow, that drone was more effective than any yelling he could have done.

With her heart pounding against her chest, she willed herself to think clearly through the panic haze, think of a way to get out of the present situation. She needed air. She needed to get as far away from him as possible.

'Breathe, Lisa, breathe,' she told herself. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed and her breath became even again. .

"Great, we're making progress. Now, I am going to remove my hand and when I do, promise me you will not scream." She glared at him, the best that she could given the darkness and the fact that they were almost nose to nose. "Leese, that's no way to treat a guest."

He wasn't a guest and he knew it. But Lisa knew that the best way to get herself out of this situation was to play along. Slowly, she nodded.

As soon as his hand left her mouth, the first words that came out of it were, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too," Jackson replied dryly. "You have a pretty good grip there Leese."

It was then she noticed that her hands were still on his shoulders, and they were gripping tightly against the fabric of his suit. She removed them quickly, as if burned. She sat up, and moved to the other side of the couch. This was not good. "Don't change the subject," she replied, "What the hell are you doing here?"

He took a seat on the couch, reclining against it, his arm draped over the top of it, his eyes in her direction. He knew that this was making her uncomfortable and the prospect of that seemed amusing. She inched further away (if that was even possible), though not leaving the couch. Maybe there was improvement.

"Late night stroll, was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by, the usual," he replied, sounding nonchalant, as if breaking into her home was the most normal thing in the world. "And before you accuse me of less than honorable intentions, let me put it on the record by saying, if I was here to kill you, I would have done so already." He might as well get the elephant out of the room first.

If he could accurately see Lisa's face, he would have seen one of shock at what he just said, as well as the realization of just how long he had been watching her sleep. "Well, I always figured you were too classy to kill somebody in their sleep," she replied, attempting to sound sarcastic but knowing that she sounded shaky.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Though he knew it wasn't.

"Don't think too much of yourself. I didn't mean it as a compliment. But okay, Jack, I'll do you a favor and play along."

That's a first, he thought to himself.

"If you're not here to kill me, what do you want?"

That was a good question, and the weird thing was, Jackson didn't exactly know the answer. He had never really known the answer, to any of his motives regarding Lisa, motives that he didn't want to put to the light. So he told the truth.

"You know what? Strangely, I don't know."

"You don't know." she said, incredulous, "So I'm guessing you're here just to have tea and cookies."

"Maybe, that would be nice, though I'm not much for tea."

"You can't break into somebody's house and not know why."

"Well, I'd knock but I highly doubt you would let me in."

Like hell she would. "No kidding Jack, you're not exactly someone I'd want to let in my house."

"And here I thought we had made such a great connection on the plane."

"When, exactly, do you recall such a connection? Could it be, when you threatened to kill my father? Or maybe, when you headbutted me? Or threw me against the bathroom wall? Please, enlighten me because I must have been knocked out when this connection happened."

"You know Leese, sarcasm isn't going to make this situation any better."

"Well, you better be thankful for it because it's the only thing keeping you away from the receiving end of a hockey stick."

"What's the difficulty in believing that I'm not here to hurt you? That I just want to talk." Really, it was a very simple concept. And that was why it was a mystery to Jackson why Lisa didn't understand that concept. Then again, if he had been in her shoes, he probably would be just as hesitant, perhaps even more. But he wasn't going to have her insulting him much longer, especially not with a hockey stick as her only weapon. "Don't you remember what I told you on the plane? I never lie."

"Because it doesn't serve you. Yes Jack, I remember very well." She also remembered how he almost choked her in the bathroom and had almost given her a concussion but she refrained from all that. It only made her emotional and she didn't need to be, not in front of him. Especially not in front of him. .

"Yes, that's exactly what I said." Apparently, she did listen to what he said, though for better or worst, he couldn't really judge.

"But you see Jack," Lisa continued, "the funny thing is, you're wrong."

This caused him to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Really, how so?"

He asked for it and she was going to tell him. "You do lie. The way you acted at the airport, pretending to be a nice, normal, decent guy. Pretending to be something you weren't. That whole charade, _that _was a lie. So don't give me that crap Jack, about you not lying, because from the way I see it, you're full of shit."

She stared him straight in the eyes as she said this, as if daring him to refute it and defend himself. Her heart beat against her chest, but not from nervousness. She had just insulted him and this made her feel strangely elated, as if she had won the battle already. Her hand gripped the couch, preparing to get off from it at any sign of Jackson's movement. She waited for his response.

That would have been his cue to get up and go, but Jackson never was one for taking insults. Especially not from someone who was responsible for his present mental state.

"And what made you think I was lying then?" He had to know.

"Because the man at the bar in the airport was different from the man in the plane. I saw who you really are Jackson, and that made me sick." There, it was done, it was all out in the open.

"Did you ever consider for a second that it was part of the job?" He inched closer to her. Her grip on the couch tightened but she made no move to budge. "I mean, Lisa, don't tell me that the bright, smiling face you put on for your guests is not as much of a lie as what you saw on that plane. The only difference is, you get paid to be nice to people whereas in my line of work, I get paid to act like a manipulative bastard."

Only a pillow separated them now. But Lisa sat still in her place. She was not going to be frightened by him, not anymore.

"And I bet that outside of the job, you're just a normal go-lucky guy?" She had to shake her head in amazement. "Are you that delusional, Jackson? You're a killer, someone who ruins other people's lives. You think you can just flip it off like a switch but at the end of the day, you still are a killer and, as you said it, a manipulative bastard."

His eyes narrowed. "Bravo Leese, beautiful speech. I'll give you that much credit but don't pretend for a fucking moment that you know who I am," his voice had lowered, but she could still hear every word clearly. They were spiked with anger but that didn't frighten her in the slightest. It was then she noticed the slight rasp in his voice; that had been her doing. Somehow, this gave her a bit more courage. He said he was not going to kill her, she was going to take him at his word.

"I may not know everything about you, but I know enough." She was whispering now also but her tone softened, became less sarcastic, more like her normal self. If Jackson didn't know better, he would say she sounded kind.

"Sometimes, enough may not be as much as you think." The pillow was pushed aside and now, he was sitting right next to her, their thighs almost touching.

"What do you mean?" She could sense his left arm right next to her.

"You know exactly what I mean." How easy it would be to reach over and either slap her for saying these things to him or smooth her wayward hair. Or maybe both. Wonderful conflicting thoughts.

"You don't know me."

"And you don't know _me_." His hand inched closer to her face, of their own accord.

Lisa couldn't take it anymore. She stood up. And he let her. "Fine Jackson, you know what? Fine. Let's say I believe you. Let's say you are that nice, decent guy." Where was this going? "If you still are that guy from the airport that you claim to be, you will leave, right now." Her voice had become shaky again. She needed him to leave. Because another second with him there and she was going to break down. In tears or angry fits, she wasn't sure.

Silence. The two of them looked at each other for a few moments, seeing each other clearly in the darkness. To her surprise, he complied. Why? Maybe because he had already proved something to her tonight, that he was the same but also, he wasn't. Maybe now she would believe him and they could go from there. "Alright then," he said, getting up. Without another word, he walked to the door. "Goodnight Leese." He opened it, she watched him, not moving from her spot.

"Try to get some sleep." With a click, he was gone.

Lisa could hear his footsteps as he walked away. After a while, she snapped out of her trance. This time, she didn't run to the door. Instead, she slowly walked over to it, as if in a daze. Slowly, the lock clicked. Her hands remained on the doorknob.

She rested her head against it, trying to steady her breath. She was surprised to find how hard she was breathing, as if she had just run a mile. That was when she noticed the silence. Lisa didn't remember turning off the TV. Jackson.

Damn it, even now, so many months later, he could still unnerve her just with his words and his presence. She hated it, hated feeling nervous, hated his damn words, hated him…

She set the dirty dish from her unfinished dinner into the sink. "You don't know me," she had told him. The thing is, she wasn't sure if even she believed it.

* * *

A/N: Wasn't that a fun piece of work? If I had my way, this conversation would have gone on for a while, but I figured it was a good idea to end it right there, as to give more dialogue for future conversations. After all, don't want all of the skeletons to come out of the closet at once right? How would we have a story? Most stories usually focus on Lisa's pain but they don't focus on Jackson's and that's what I'm trying to do here. After all, the poor guy was just trying to do his job. As always, hope they were in character (especially Jackson because he is a hard bastard to write dialogue for). R&R, you know, the usual. 


	6. A Day in the Life

A/N: I'm sorry it's been a bit long. Just been really really busy. And too tired to write in my spare time. Now, on first reading, you might be saying, "that's it?" Hopefully, you'll see the point later on. Enjoy! And I will try to write update sooner (since everything's gonna be winding down before school starts).

* * *

The next afternoon found Lisa lying on the couch in the break room. After Jackson had left her last night, she couldn't fall asleep (once again). As a cause, her apartment was now sparkling clean (even more so than normal). Of course, the ironic thing was, when she had finally felt tired enough to fall asleep, it was almost time for her to get ready for work. And for once in many a year, Lisa actually had the urge to call in sick.

Sadly, calling in sick was not a viable option for Lisa, who was now finding herself on a very uncomfortable couch. Throughout the day, she had lost count of how many cups of coffee she had. That did not escape the notice of some of her co-workers. Such as Howard, one of her co-managers, as he noticed her filling up her 3rd cup that morning.

"Rough night Lisa?" he had asked.

She tried to smile nonchalantly, despite her droopy eyes. "Nothing serious, just couldn't sleep."

That was an understatement but then again, she really couldn't say that an assassin had broken into her apartment last night. Somehow, she didn't think that would go well with everyone, especially considering the amount of publicity the Lux Atlantic had been through following the Red Eye incident.

"Warm milk, I know it's been overdone but you'd be surprised on how well it works," he said.

Lisa nodded. Why is it that whenever you have a problem, there was always somebody to offer advice, even when you weren't looking for advice? She wanted to tell him to shove it (which was unlike her usual persona), but instead, she said, "Thanks Howard, I'll try that."

She quickly downed the coffee, willing the caffeine to start working. Obviously, it didn't because the next thing Lisa knew, she was lying on the couch in the break room trying to steal a nap during her break.

Mental note: bring up getting a better couch during the next staff meeting. Wiping away all the thoughts roaming around in her brain, she closed her eyes.

Blue, ice blue. Blue eyes… Damnit!

She turned over to her side.

Something rustled her hair. She opened her eyes with a jerk. It was just the air conditioning.

Damnit! Even when he wasn't there, she was thinking about him. What had he meant? "I get paid to act like a manipulative bastard…You don't know me…"

'Who cares what he meant?' she thought to herself. 'He's a liar and a bastard, just like he said.'

Yet, the quiet, albeit nagging, part of her mind couldn't help pointing out about how honest Jackson had been last night. After all, he had no reason to lie to her, he didn't threaten her, he had even left when she asked him to.

'Yeah, he also seemed honest at the Tex Mex and look where that got us.'

'But he said that it's his job to act the way he did.'

'Only because he doesn't have enough moral integrity to find a different job.'

'Hm, good point.'

Well, that should keep that debate closed for now. Lisa attempted to clear her mind again. Concentrate on the couch; the semi-soft, needed-to-be-replaced couch. The fibers underneath her hand, the soft shuffling of feet outside, the phones ringing in the distance…

"Lisa…Lisa."

Damnit! She rubbed her eyes before opening them. It was Denise, one of the receptionists, looking sympathetic and very sorry.

"How long was I out?" This time, she didn't even try to hold back her yawn.

"About 10 minutes. I'm sorry, but you have a call on line 4."

Lisa tried to hold back her grimace, which Denise must have seen because she then added quickly, "But if you want to, I can tell them to call back later."

Why bother, she obviously wasn't meant to get her nap. She slowly sat up, pushing back the hair that had somehow gotten in her face. "No, it's okay. I'll be right there."

"Okay, I'll bring you some coffee."

"That'll be great." Lisa stood up, stretched slightly and rearranged her blouse and skirt. She ran her hand through her hair, wishing that there was a mirror. Oh well, how bad can it be?

When she got to the front lobby, Denise was there, with a cup of steamy coffee in her hand. Lisa took it from her gratefully and took a sip, all the while thinking to herself as she picked up the phone, 'Please be someone normal, please be someone normal, please be someone normal.' But then again, logically, Jackson wouldn't call her when she worked. After all, he must have been busy during his days doing…whatever it was that he did. Then again, she didn't put anything past him. Though she did wonder, did he get vacations? Health benefits? Sick leave? After all, a sick hit man definitely would not function well.

"Good afternoon, Lux Atlantic, Lisa spea- Yes Mr. Murphy, the suite has been prepared. Of course, the roses and champagne will be ready. Yes, candles too. No, don't worry, we will make sure it's lavender-scented. No worries, it's no trouble at all. Yes, she will love it. Thank you, have a nice day and the room will be ready when you arrive tonight. Okay, of course, bye." She hung up the phone. "Thank you Denise."

"I'm sorry Leese, I shouldn't have disturbed you," said the dark-haired receptionist. "I could have taken care of it myself but he insisted on sending the information to you, something about shoddy receptionists."

"It's all right, he just wants everything to be perfect." Though Lisa couldn't help feeling a little disgruntled. Really, she missed a potentially nice nap for a man who needs help proposing to his girlfriend. Wonderful, like she needed a reminder of her non-existent love life. Uh oh, must not think about that, Lisa.

"But his room is ready, right?"

"It's being prepped now as we speak," replied Denise, now cheerful. "I'll go tell housekeeping about the lavender-scented candles, I don't think they got that. But you have to admit, it is awfully romantic."

"I'll take your word for it. And remember to move the furniture in Miss Killian's room, she likes a nice big space near the TV in order to go her nightly stretches."

"No problem," answered the girl, writing it down on the notepad that she always kept on her body. "Oh Lisa, they told me to remind you about the representative from the children's league committee."

"That's right. 2 o'clock. The charity ball." She rubbed her eyes, groaning quietly. Today was just not her day.

At the sound of a ball, the receptionist's eyes lighted up, as most women would do at the sound of any excuse to dress up. "What kind of ball?"

"It's an annual event held by the Children's League of Miami, in order to raise funds for cancer and leukemia research."

"That sounds wonderful. Rich guests?"

"Who else? And it's especially wonderful to plan and hold," she added sarcastically. "Then again, it depends if the committee likes our ballroom." She hoped they didn't. Somehow, Lisa did not look forward to the busy months of planning and preparation. An additional workload was not appealing to her right now, despite the publicity that it would bring to the hotel (as if they needed any more).

"Well, time to get back to work, thanks a lot Denise."

"You're welcome. Do you want me to bring you some more coffee?"

"No thank you, I'm fine. Anymore coffee and I'll be jumping from the walls." Not to mention that it was not helping her in any way right now.

"Are you sure? How about a muffin or a cantaloupe? You don't look well."

Maybe she should paste a sign on her back, or on her front, telling people to stop asking how she felt. Or if not that, tell them to stop pointing out that she looked like shit. This was just like three years ago. Actually, it was worst then. Much worst. "I'm fine, just tired."

How many times has she said that this past week? Probably not enough. "Thank you for your concern though." She quickly walked away before the girl could ask anything else.

Going home and going to bed sounded really good right now.

* * *

"Shit, that was a fuckin' close call."

"Calm down Neil, no need to get all worked up about it," said Jackson, concentrating on the road ahead and pretending not to notice that the man next to him had a blood-stained bandage on his arm.

"No need? We almost got our arms amputated back there and you're telling me to calm down?"

"Actually, you just got a scratch and yes, I'm telling you to calm down. We finished the job, didn't we? There were just some unforeseen interruptions. Press on it, it'll stop the bleeding."

"Uh huh, that's your eloquent way of saying that we fucked up. I know I need to press and you know this isn't a fuckin' scratch." The dark-haired man beside Jackson winced, all the while muttering some expletives under his breath.

Jackson smiled, somehow he found the situation oddly humorous. Then again, in this line of work, it was imperative to have a sense of humor, however strange. "Never took you to have a sailor's mouth."

"Well, you get a nice little gash on your arm and see how eloquent you become."

"And you need to get used to the occupational hazards in this job. People will be people, they will want to fight back." And Jackson knew, first-hand, more than once, how true that statement was. He couldn't deny that part of human nature, that part that fights to survive, it was a part he knew all too well.

"But they hardly ever did before," said Neil, "Usually, they're so damned shocked by the prospect of being threatened that they hardly make a fuss. Why is that? It's like suddenly, we're getting people who actually have a fuckin' backbone. Either that or they all feel like playing the hero."

"You obviously haven't been on that many jobs," Jackson replied, swerving over to the lane entering the freeway, much to the honking of the people behind him. He hated this area of the city, not enough lanes and way too many cars.

"Yeah, I obviously haven't had the experience that you have, right Jackson? You're so experienced that you got your ass kicked by a girl."

"I'm not the one with his arm sliced open right now, so I suggest you drop it unless you want to be lying in the middle of the freeway," said Jackson, his voice threatening, his eyes still on the road.

But the man beside him was not deterred, he smirked. This turn in the conversation took some of the focus away from his wound. "Well, it seems the great Jackson Rippner, which have I ever told you, is a crappy alias, does have a soft spot. What's the matter, did she pop that oversized ego of yours?"

Jackson did not show any response to those words, even if they hit a little bit too close to home. Though like hell he was going to let the jackass beside him know that. "Don't tempt me, Neil."

He could feel the man's eyes on his skull and Jackson did not like that one bit. He hated it when people scrutinized him. To him, it showed their lack of tact, as well as their nosiness.

Finally, Neil said, "Fine then, no need to get any more pissed off Rippner, I get it." He reached into his jacket pocket for a box of cigarettes.

Jackson pulled down the windows. What did Neil suddenly "get"?

As the smoke from the cigarette blew slowly out, he spoke up again, after a moment's silence, "Do you think it's karma?"

"What are you babbling about now?"

"Karma, jackass. In my spare time, I've been doing some reading, especially on the eastern religions. It's interesting, the thought that something bad you did might come back to bite you in the ass eventually. Almost makes you feel repentant." Neil relaxed in the seat, looking straight ahead.

"Don't tell me that after all this time, you've finally found religion. You can't just go get laid like the rest of us?"

"Fuck off, Jackson." He took another puff, flicking the ashes out the window. "Seriously, though, don't you ever feel that the things we do will have consequences, that we may be writing our own one-way ticket to hell?" Neil looked almost pensive as he was saying it, like he actually believed it.

"I don't believe in karma, it's all a bunch of religious bullshit," replied Jackson.

"Of course it is. But that doesn't mean it lacks the power to make you think," Neil said pointedly.

"It has nothing to do with us. The people who pay us for the jobs will be the ones going to hell. Don't you remember orientation, Neil? We're just the messengers." He tried to sound confident, cool. This was, after all, what he has always believed. It kept the guilt away. After all, this was only a job.

There was a pause. "Yeah, you're probably right. What the hell was I thinking? Probably sounded like those goddamn door-to-door religious freaks." Neil laughed, as he leaned over to turn on the radio.

As for Jackson, he couldn't stop thinking about the conversation. He mulled it over in his mind. He had to admit, the bastard was right, it did make you think. When something comes back to haunt you, as well as to punish you…Somehow, that sounded too familiar. And he didn't like it one bit.

"By the way, that knife in the head back there, nicely done."

"Thanks. Gotta make up somehow for being a crappy shot."

* * *

A/N: And just when you forget that Jackson is an assassin... As I was writing this, I was thinking of "Pulp Fiction" since they so casually talk about McDonalds while going to a job (I love Quentin Tarantino's dialogue). Hopefully, he wasn't too out-of-character. Hope you found this chapter interesting. I promise the next one will be more exciting.


	7. Seasonal Allergies

A/N: Well, I did say it was going to be sooner than last time. Not much sooner but it's a start. I would like to thank all of my reviewers who commented on the last chapter, which I thought was crud. Thank you guys, you made my week.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The alarm rang.

Lisa heard it through her sleep-induced haze and it pulled her away from the dream she was having, one that had to do with the salt and a sea, though she couldn't remember much else. On impulse, she rolled over and hit the alarm, turning off the irritating wailing. She groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. Slowly, she got up and coughed. She took a sip of water from the cup on her bedside table. It hurt to swallow. Lisa coughed again, clearing her throat.

But to no avail, her throat still felt scratchy. And the worst part of it, it was worst than yesterday. It had been feeling scratchy for the past couple of days but like any stubborn person who hated getting sick, Lisa had ignored it, hoping it would go away with plenty of hot tea. Obviously that plan had failed and she now had not only a scratchy throat, but a slight cough.

Shit, this was bad.

Maybe it had been the hectic schedule the past couple of weeks, what with the planning of the charity ball and the recent influx of guests. Or maybe it was because Lisa has not had a good night's sleep in a long, unhealthy while. And when she did sleep a straight 8 hours, it was plagued by dreams of a most unsavory nature. Then again, it could also be the fact that at any minute, Lisa expected Jackson to come through that door. It was unnerving, almost frightening, knowing that he had access to her apartment, knowing that she was never really secure, never really safe. Damn it, no wonder she wasn't sleeping right. He watches her sleep! That was beyond creepy. Not to mention a bit strange considering.

But whatever the reason, one thing was for sure…

Lisa was sick.

Of course, in her line of work, being sick was a double-edged sword. On one hand, staying at home would allow her to sleep and maybe get better, but she would also be missing on a day's work, guests, and phone calls from the children's committee. But then, on the other hand, if she went to work, she could very well spread her cold to the guests but manage to complete her day's work and maybe go home earlier depending on how fast she finished it. Oh decisions, decisions.

She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. Not too warm. It probably wasn't that bad. Maybe she could make it through the day.

She threw the covers off of her body and placed her feet on the floor.

Of course she can, she was Lisa Reisert, who was dedicated to her job and to the guests. And besides, she had a huge amount of work to do today, they were discussing floral arrangements. Oh joy.

Lisa coughed, and turned on the water faucet, splashing some cold water on her face. It's okay, it was just a little cough…and a scratch throat. Nothing to worry about.

Round one goes to the workaholic.

"If it gets bad, I'll go home," she said to herself, wiping her face with a cold washcloth. Then again, bad was a relative term.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

All was silent save for the soft rumbling of the airplane. Another page was flipped in the book, a good-sized volume, just enough to last a six hour flight from Los Angeles, as well as an hour wait at the airport. His eyes scanned the words, taking in the flowing prose, the clear, defined descriptions. Occasionally, he would raise his eyebrow to a piece of intriguing writing, smiling at the wry humor, the dry wit. It was dark beside him even though he was sure that it was still daylight. But, the man beside him had closed down the blinds before falling asleep so he wasn't sure how late it is.

He looked at his watch, 3:50. Another hour and 45 minutes before landing.

"Here you go," said the stewardess, handing him a cup of ginger ale. Jackson looked up from his book and took the cup, smiling his usual smirk that usually knocked the socks off of regular women, stewardesses including. She smiled in return, with a slight blush on her cheek. "And how are you doing today Mr…"

"Wenham. I'm doing very well, thank you," he replied. "And you?"

"A bit tired, but fine," she said. He could see that she was thankful somebody asked her that, he was probably the first one to do so all day. But in his line of work, it paid to be polite, never know when someone would be called to testify. "Can you give this to the gentleman next to you?"

He took the cup of tomato juice from her and placed it on the tray of the snoring man beside him. "Thank you, call me if you need anything else," she said.

"I will." The stewardess smiled at him again and turned away, dealing with the other thirsty passengers.

Just then, the man beside him roused himself awake, yawning as he was doing so. Jackson turned his head, narrowly missing the fist coming towards his face.

"Ugh, I hate flying," the man said, presumably to Jackson, who was the only one within earshot. "I can't wait to get back."

"Me too," Jackson answered, still looking at his book.

"So…where are you from? Do you live in Miami?" asked the man, obviously trying to make small talk in order to pass the time.

Jackson kept his face in his book, answering with an affirmative. No need to go into too much detail.

"So do I. Wonderful city, don't you think? Beautiful beaches, nice girls." Jackson agreed to this also. There was a slight, semi-awkward pause before the man spoke up again, "So…do you have a girl waiting for you when you get back?"

The man was a curious one, almost to the point of annoyance. But Jackson couldn't help smiling to himself. Did Lisa count?

He wondered what she was doing today. Probably being her old faux-cheerful workaholic self. He was almost positive that she expected him. Probably still expected him to come in and kill her in her sleep. 'Poor paranoid Lisa,' not that he blamed her. She told him to leave last time, and he had complied. What more did she want?

He didn't even know why he was analyzing it so much. It's not like he was going to see her anytime soon. The job went well, he didn't get pissed off, everything is fine. Already, he had seen her way too much for his own comfort, thought about her too much. He was even thinking about her too much right now! It didn't matter that he was coming back to Miami. He was not going to see her.

"Yeah, you can say so," he replied.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"If you need anything else Mrs. Johnson, you can just ask me," Lisa said, smiling to the old couple and handing them their keys.

"Thank you so much Lisa," Mrs. Johnson replied, a sandy-haired old lady who Lisa knew was fond of scuba diving, despite her age. "Take care of yourself dear, you don't look so well."

"I will, thank you," she said. Did she really look that bad? She hadn't looked in the mirror since she left for work, and it wasn't that bad this morning. Now, where was her tissue? "Ah choo!"

"Bless you," said a man, who had stepped up to the counter when she wasn't looking. He handed her a tissue.

"Thank you," she said, taking it gratefully. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, Ted McKinley."

"And how are you doing today Mr. McKinley?" asked Lisa, looking through the computer. She coughed into her tissue. It was time to take the throat lozenges again. "You are in room 3620."

"That's sounds right. I'm doing great, looking forward to relaxing. And how are you…" he leaned down to see her nametag, "Lisa?"

She cleared her throat. "Very well, thank you."

"A little cold?" he asked, noticing the rasp in her voice and smiling sympathetically, though just enough to show off the dimples in his cheeks.

She had to admit, he had a nice smile. "Nothing to worry about. Here are your brochures and room key, if you need anything, please ask me."

He took the keys from her, brushing her fingers as he did. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. I hope you feel better Lisa."

"Thank you, have a nice day." She had to shake her head in disbelief as he walked away. Even when a girl was sick, guys still had the urge to hit on her. Though she had to admit, she felt a bit flattered. That must mean she didn't look that bad. "I'll be right back," she said to one of the other receptionists.

She made her way towards the bathroom. Of course, when she stepped into the bathroom, her earlier suspicions were confirmed. "Oh dear god." She looked like shit. The image reflected in the mirror was haggard and frail, someone who should not be out in the open. Her face was pale, making her red nose seem all that much more apparent. Goodness, she looked like Rudolph the reindeer, after not sleeping for the last month. Obviously, going to work had been a bad idea.

The bathroom door opened. "Lisa, did I just see you flirt with someone?" And that's how she knew that Cynthia just walked in. She went over to the sink beside Lisa and turned on the faucet.

"I was not flirting with him," she said, sneezing into her tissue ("Bless you"). "I was being polite."

"Well, he was cute, so I don't blame you for being polite," teased the blonde. She was met by a series of very chronic coughs from Lisa, which changed her expression from one of teasing to concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," replied Lisa.

"Are you sure? You look, excuse me for saying this, terrible."

Great, her suspicions were confirmed twice. "It's fine, just the seasonal cold, nothing to worry about."

But Cynthia didn't look like she believed it. "Is everything all right? I mean, you haven't been sleeping well, and don't think I don't see it. And to top it off, you're sick."

Sometimes, Lisa had to admit, she didn't give her friend enough credit. She was observant, more than Lisa realized. Maybe she should tell her what was going on. Who knows, it might make her feel better.

"You know that you can tell me anything," Cynthia continued.

Somehow, Lisa knew exactly what she was referring to. But despite that, she couldn't open her mouth to tell the truth.

How could she, she knew Cynthia would be worried and it would make the situation too messy. And what could she do to help? So instead, she just said smiled her usual smile, the one that said "Nothing's wrong, please don't ask me any more questions" and replied, "No, it's okay. I'm fine, really."

Cynthia looked at her and Lisa knew that she didn't believe her. Of course, the great thing was that she wasn't forceful. But that didn't stop her from looking worried. "All right. But remember, you can talk to me if anything's wrong."

For a moment there, it seemed like their roles were reversed. Cynthia was the experienced one and Lisa was the one who didn't know what she was doing. How many times had she been the one to guide her blonde friend through a mess. Unlike Lisa though, Cynthia was never afraid to talk about her problems.

Sadly, Lisa couldn't say the same for herself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It smelled like salt. She loved the sea, it was comforting, so constant, never changing. The peaceful sound of the waves and the seagulls, the kiss of the ocean spray, and salty breeze floating all around her. All present, never-ending. It wrapped itself around her body like a shroud, rustling her hair. She could feel it through the thin fabric of her dress, it made her shiver.

A warm touch, a hand, was placed on her upper arm. Even though she did not turn, she knew who it was.

"I missed you," she found herself saying, in a voice that was soft, full of longing and intimacy. She knew him but at the same time, she didn't.

"I know." His voice was soft, deep, warm as chocolate. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, how close he was to her and yet, she did not mind.

Her hand, that had been crossed underneath her arm rose up and covered his, she rubbed his wrist with the tip of her fingers, in a caress that felt both strange and familiar, like she had always been doing it and will always continue to. "Where have you been?"

"Around. I'm sorry." He was stepping closer. She did not mind.

"For what?"

"Everything. I wish I could make it better." He felt remorseful, like he harmed her in more than one way. He was sorry for something else. She didn't ask; she didn't care. Things happen.

"Just stay with me," she said simply, like with him there beside her, all worries will be gone, everything will be beautiful.

His arm encircled her waist. He pulled her close. She felt his form pressed up against her back, the heat from his body warming up her chilled skin. It was like coming home after a long day, a warm welcome. They fit perfectly. "I always will," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

He was so close now. His face was beside her, his lips against her ear. If she could just turn, she would see him, see his face, his eyes, feel his lips…

She couldn't stop coughing. And it was really hot. And she couldn't breathe. With much struggling, she opened her eyes.

It was dark, save for the outside lights coming in from the curtained windows. Lisa reached over to the nightstand to get a drink of water. To her chagrin, the glass was empty. She had forgotten to fill it up again.

Laying back down on the pillow, she tried to go back to sleep. Sadly, the cough wouldn't let her. What time was it? 2. She had only been asleep for three hours. She moaned. Why was this happening?

Groaning, she got out of bed. Her head was throbbing and her throat felt dry and cracked from coughing so much. She made her way slowly to the kitchen, taking the empty glass with her. Was it time to take the medicine again? She wasn't sure.

In the kitchen, she turned on the light. The sudden influx of light momentarily blinded her and her hand automatically covered her eyes. When her vision came back, she filled her water glass again. Then, she took a sip from the glass, wincing as it painfully flowed down her throat. To make the matters worst, she still felt like she was burning up.

"I don't want to go to work tomorrow," she groaned, as she leaned against the kitchen counter, placing the cool glass against her forehead. It was then she felt something. It suddenly felt hotter, much hotter.

Was she burning up that badly? She didn't feel it. So it definitely wasn't her. But if it wasn't her, then what the…who…

"Oh Leese, still a workaholic. Can't you just call out sick like normal people?"

------------------------------------- 

A/N: I can hear the curses now. No worries, the next part has been started and as you are reading this, I am writing it. I'll try to get it up as soon as I can.

Now, to all of the reviewers who are wondering, "Why Deepy, do you torture us with these agonizingly slow updates?" (I'm looking at you Rose), I want to offer an explanation. The reason is, I only write when I feel inspired to, when it flows right. If I force it, it ends up crappy. And I also tend to write the scene, then edit it a couple of times until it sounds right. So, as you can see, writing for me is a very laborious process. Imagine how much longer it would be if I had a beta! Though I am sure that I need one and I am willing to get one. Feel free to e-mail me if you're interested!

Okay, I'll stop ranting now and let you get to the reviewing. Or cursing, whichever you guys prefer.


	8. And Off to Bed

A/N: Yay! Page divider works again!

* * *

At the sound of his voice, so near her and so unexpected, she jumped. She let out a gasp, freezing up instantly. In her shock, the water glass fell from her immobile fingers, dropped to the counter, rolled over to the edge, and fell to the ground. The sound of shattered glass roused her instantly and she turned around, coming face to face with a pair of blue eyes, the kind that she loathed, especially at this very moment. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, and surprising herself when she heard how raspy her voice was. It hurt to talk and what she wanted to do was to go back to bed. Now that Jackson was here though, that put an obvious damper on the plan.

He looked at the shattered glass on the floor, smirking that insufferable smirk of his. "My, Lisa, I never took you for being clumsy."

"Don't change the subject. And don't tell me you've come to say…" she cleared her throat, "to say hello."

"Well, that wasn't the initial plan but now that you're awake…"

"Can't you ever knock like normal people," Lisa said quietly, as she felt her voice giving out after so much ill-use. She started coughing again. Her eyelids felt heavy, her throat felt like sandpaper whenever she swallowed, and Jackson Rippner was in her kitchen. The perfect ending to a crappy day.

"And miss the chance to scare the shit out of you?"

"Go to hell," she croaked, her voice was on the edge of disappearing and she did not feel like arguing with Jackson. Not tonight. "If you've come here to taunt at me, you can very well get out."

"So sassy Leese, take it easy."

Lisa scowled, something she didn't do often. She was not in the mood for this. There was no way she was going to carry on an argument with that son-of-a-bitch right now, not when she needed to rest. "What the hell are you up to Jackson?"

Jackson raised his eyebrow. She never called him by his full alias.

"You're not here to kill me, as you keep on pointing out, and I know that you aren't just here for a late-night chat. What the hell do you want?" She would have raised her voice if that was possible. Sadly, the best thing she could do to emphasize her point was to lower her voice a few notches and hoping it sounded intimidating.

That was a good question, Jackson mused. And one that she had asked last time too, which he had not been able to answer then either. Why was he there? He said he wouldn't come, that he would practice that deep inner strength that he so prided himself in. Of course, considering that strength has been seriously lacking the past few months, he wasn't really surprised that he had failed to keep his own promise. She was a distraction and the strange thing was, he didn't mind that distraction.

Well, a part of him did but that was only a very small part. So, in response to her question, he said the best thing that came to mind, since in all likelihood, that was probably what he was there for.

He leaned casually against the refrigerator as he said this, like he was a guest. "I haven't been in town lately but since I just got back, just wanted to check up, see how you're doing." It was true, to an extent.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said, incredulously and giving him the look that asked if this was a joke.

"When in our wonderful relationship have I ever tried to kid you?"

She still looked at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying. Finally, she spoke. "So then, you're just here to check up on me? Make sure I'm eating my vegetables Jacks?"

He looked at her, bemused. "Sarcasm doesn't become you Leese, it's not an attractive feature." Though it was very entertaining.

"I'm exhausted, I can't breathe, my throat feels like shit, and I think I may be contagious," she replied bitterly, and also coughing again afterwards to emphasize her point. "But other than that, I'm feeling just peachy." She groaned, covering her face with her hands. Maybe if she did that, she'll wake up to find this all a dream. Maybe then, he'll disappear.

Her hands left her face. Much to her chagrin, he was still there, looking at her peculiarly. And there was another look in his eyes, something different. It was the same look he had given her in the plane. When she told him her secret. She had seen it, though she had tried not to look at him during her story. And after, she had tried to convince herself that she had imagined it, that he wasn't caring, that he was a merciless bastard. So why was he looking at her that way?

"You really should be in bed," he said, looking at her. And he meant it, she looked like she would collapse at any moment.

That comment, she did not expect. It was too normal, too kind. What was he playing at? "You're one to talk, you're the one who's breaking into my apartment at 2am," Lisa said, sidestepping the glass to opening cupboard underneath the sink to get the hand broom.

"I'm not the one who's contagious." He watched her as she got on her knees to sweep the glass away.

"If you're so afraid of germs, maybe you should leave."

"Not until you get to bed."

"Not with you here."

He smiled, in that despicable, taunting manner of his. "What are you so afraid of Leese, I don't bite, especially not sick girls."

She looked up at him, almost deadpan. "Is that supposed to make me feel better Jackson?"

"Supposed to, but somehow, I highly doubt it."

Lisa sighed as she put away the broom. She didn't get up from the ground, just kneeled there, not looking at him, and rubbing her palm against her forehead.

Finally, she spoke, in a resigned voice, "Jackson, I've had a long day, I'm exhausted, I'm not feeling too well so can you please, just leave?" It worked once, maybe it'll work again.

"I told you, I'll go when I make sure you're asleep."

Nice try Jackson. "I'm not going anywhere until I see you walk out that door," replied Lisa, sitting down on the kitchen floor. "So I guess we both have problems."

"That is a bit of a dilemma. How do you think we should solve it?"

"You know how."

He thought for a moment, then got a look in his eyes that she couldn't read. "Yes, of course." Then, without another word, he walked briskly over to where she was sitting.

Lisa, seeing him walk towards her, then realized her mistake in sitting down. There was no way out, she was trapped on three sides by the cupboards. She cursed herself at this lack of foresight and was unable to move away when he bent down and scooped her up in his arms.

This forward action surprised her immensely and she let out a very angry, "What are you doing?"

"Taking you to bed," he said, keeping a straight face even when he found the present situation very funny.

Not happy with this unexpected turn of events, she did her best to struggle. She writhed and punched him in the chest, causing him to stop midway to her bed. "Leese, if you keep this up, I'm going to have to drop you on the ground and it won't be gently." Jackson said, stopping in his tracks, with that hint of warning in his voice and relaxing his arms for good measure.

Lisa stopped struggling and tried to think of something to do. Maybe she should just play along until he put her down, then fight like a mad woman. At any other time, it would have been quite romantic but it was Jackson, for goodness sakes. What the hell was he thinking?

Surely, he wouldn't…She was sick!

"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you, especially not now," he said to her, as if sensing her thoughts.

Then, much to her surprise, he set her down gently on the bed. Of course, Lisa, being Lisa, was still wary. She sat up and turned over to look at him. He was now kneeling beside the bed. Despite the darkness of her room, she could see him clearly, a figure of darkness outlined by a hazy glow from the streetlamps outside. She wondered how well he could see her and if he could read her expression, her eyes that were traveling from his set lips to his crystalline eyes. What was he thinking? Why was he acting this way?

And as she searched his face, trying to find some answer, she was surprised when she suddenly felt his hand on her forehead. She flinched at the unexpected touch, that skin on skin contact, and at the same time, there was a coldness that traveled from her head all the way down to the pit of her stomach. It was like being submerged in a fog, heavy and thick.

For Jackson's part, he didn't seem to notice her reaction, just remarked, "You're really warm." The back of his hand was against her cheek and that was when she realized, in the haze of her mind, that this was the first time he has ever gently touched her. There was no taunting, no cruelty, just a soft touch. Funny, she thought his hands would be cold…

It was like a dream. Surreal almost. Like one of those dreams, where there was someone close, who she allowed to touch her, to get closer. Like one of those dreams that made her blush thinking about it. In fact, she felt her face heating up even now, though she didn't think he saw it. Then again, it was probably the fever. She could just sink, let herself fall like she did in those dreams. It would be all right. After all, it wasn't real.

Except…it was real.

He was Jackson and she was Lisa. And this wasn't how it was supposed to be. She turned her head away from the warmth of his hand and the wave of cold that followed made her feel as if someone had thrown water on her face. She bit her lip nervously, not knowing what to do. Wasn't he supposed to do something now? And wasn't she supposed to fight back?

Why couldn't things be as she expected them?

Her eyes came to rest on her knees, which were bent in front of her. Nothing was ever simple. She didn't see the surprised look in his eyes, nor the sparkle of disappointment that flickered there.

"Go to sleep Leese, nothing's going to happen to you."

She swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. "Why am I supposed to believe that?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Because, if I did want to do anything to you, I would have done so already. Besides, you're no use to me sick."

She turned to look at him. Was that answer supposed to make her feel better? She wasn't sure and she didn't really know how to respond to that. For once since seeing him again, there was no sarcastic reply, no distrustful comment from her. Instead, she just looked at him, questioningly, as if she couldn't believe that he was there. Was this the same Jackson that was on the plane? At the house? It couldn't be. This was the Tex Mex Jackson, someone she thought that she would never see again and someone, she realized in that small corner of her brain, someone she had missed. It was like, he was a different person but still felt familiar. Strange…

"Go to sleep Leese," he said again, his voice soft and, god forbid, kind, "it'll be okay. I promise."

Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was the look in his eyes. Or maybe it was because Lisa was tired and didn't feel like arguing anymore. Whatever the reason was, she believed him.

Finally, she relaxed, and allowed herself to lie down. There was still some wariness but that gave way to the exhaustion and the hope that maybe, Jackson wasn't lying this time (though he claimed that he never really did). And when he pulled the covers over her, she didn't protest. Her dad used to do that when she was young. It had made her feel so safe when he would do it, like the monsters could not touch her if she was tucked under the blanket. And it surprised her when she felt that now, that air of security, the sense that everything would be okay. And from Jackson, no less! It was enough to make her laugh, if she hadn't been exhausted and if she hadn't been holding her breath.

She almost expected him to kiss her on her forehead when he was done. But unlike her dad, it would be quite different if Jackson did it and she didn't know how she would respond. Funny, it would be interesting to find out…

What was she thinking? She was probably delirious.

Luckily, she didn't have to worry for he just stood there, stooped over a bit, gazing at her. His hand lingered near her face, his expression perplexed, like he was debating something. Then, finally, he resolved to smooth a stray lock of her hair away. And the moment that his hand touched her head, she went cold all over again.

"Goodnight Leese," he said to her, looking at her, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

"Night Jackson," she said quietly, so quiet that she wasn't even sure if he even heard her. And she closed her eyes, let out that breath, and everything went dark.

* * *

He did not have to wait long before she was asleep. It was to be expected. After all, she was tired and has had a long day. And she was also sick, which added to the drowsiness. But despite that, she had been intent on arguing with him, even when her voice was close to giving out.

Jackson shook his head wryly. "Oh Leese, always so stubborn," he whispered, though he knew she was too far gone to hear. He really didn't need to stay there anymore but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to move away from that spot. It was peaceful in this apartment and at the same time, different. More warm and inviting. Something that he never found in his own condo. Something that could only be found by the presence of another human being.

What was she doing to him? In frustration, he moved away the unruly hair that had fallen in his face and rested his hand on his chin. It was funny. He wasn't a sentimental man but somehow, he had found himself in her apartment with no other intention than to just check up on her, as he had done many times prior. But it was now, having just spoken with her, that he wondered why. Tonight, he had spoken softly to her, with concern and without any sarcastic or taunting words. And she had responded in kind. And that left him wondering at the state of their current standings. Was he still the enemy? Was she?

Oh, did he want to find out. He wasn't sure as to how. Maybe something normal. Something that didn't involve late night visits. Maybe he'll do what she suggested and "knock like normal people." He smiled to himself. Maybe, just maybe.

He looked at her again, at her face, so peaceful when she was sleeping. He listened to her raspy breathing and was almost tempted to touch her face again. She had been so responsive when he had done so earlier. He remembered the look in her eyes. They had seem to glaze over as if she was in a dream and the sight of it made his stomach constrict in a strange way. Would she wake up if he touched her again? He recalled the softness of her skin, as well as the cold clamminess that came from being ill.

Snapping out of his self-induced trance, he quickly stood up. No, no more. Quiet as a ghost, he made his way out of the room. At the doorway, he turned back and took in the sight of her. So small, so fragile. Then, turning his prying eyes away, he made his way to the front door, turning off the kitchen light in the process, and finally shut the door of the apartment with a soft, barely audible click.

* * *

A/N: I do love writing their interactions. As I was writing this, I had to prevent myself from having these two argue themselves into a circle, which is a very easy thing to do. I hope you enjoyed reading Jackson's and Lisa's interaction just as much as I enjoy writing it. Hopefully, they were in character and I made Jackson believably nice while still being a bit of a jerk. Then again, we love him as a jerk. Tell me what you think!

And yes Lorelle, I am a perfectionist. Though sometimes, it does fail me which is why I need you guys to tell me when it's wrong. On an upside, this chapter did flow like water. Yay!


	9. Early Morning Call

A/N: I'm back! No, I didn't disappear off the face of the earth. Life has been busy for me since we've last seen together. School has this horrible habit of stealing away every creative urge you have, especially college. But hopefully, updates will be more regular. I do admit though, it was wonderful getting back into the sync of this story. Hopefully, this chapter was worth the wait and I promise the next one will not take a year to write. Happy readings!

* * *

Mornings were very routine for Lisa. Every night, she would set her alarm for 5:30 so that she would have time to get up and take a shower. Then, she would blow dry her hair to its natural curliness, put some product in it to prevent frizz, and do her make-up. After putting on the clothes that was laid out the night before, she would grab a quick breakfast (which usually comprised of coffee and a bagel) on the way to work. Of course, years of doing that exact routine had her body naturally set to 5:30. Most of the time, she would wake beforehand and would have to turn off the clock before it even rang. And she hardly ever had to hit the snooze button. For Lisa, when she woke up, she really woke up. No telling herself ten more minutes, no pulling the covers over her head. Just the sound of the morning radio, the rolling over, and the sitting up.

Which was why it came as a surprise to her when, lately, the alarm was the one that seemed to wake her up more often than not. She didn't know why. Was it stress? Or maybe the fact that she seemed to be getting less and less sleep? Or, most likely, it could be the dreams. Those wonderful, engaging dreams that she never was able to pull herself out of. She hated the dreams.

Or, and this was the most probably answer, it could be the added tension of having that particular late-night visitor. Yes, it was probably a combination of those things that had her hitting her snooze button and praying for 10 more minutes of rest.

On that particular morning, following the wonderful nighttime incident prior, her body woke her up (per usual). She groaned, her throat feeling like it was poked with needles from the inside. Her mouth was dry and every time she coughed, it was followed by a wince, and felt like her lungs were threatening to come up her throat. Covering her eyes with her hand – it was unusually bright that morning – she let her eyes adjust to the morning light. How she wanted to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep… Sadly, that was not a viable option. She had to work and the longer she stayed in bed, the more likely it was that she would fall back asleep. The notion of which seemed more pleasing with each passing minute.

When everything was clear again, she looked at the clock on her bedside.

And almost jumped out of the bed.

10!

It was 10!

Shit! She was late! Not just a few minute late, but 3 hours late. This was unheard of. This has never happened before. She pulled the covers off of herself and reached frantically for her cell phone. She needed to call and do damage control. But as she made a grab for it, she discovered that there was only air. Where was her phone? Quickly getting out of bed, she looked around her dresser. The charger cord was there but her phone wasn't.

"Shit!" she said to herself while coughing profuse.

Climbing out of bed as fast as her tired body could go, she got down on her hands and knees and frantically searched for her phone. It must have fallen to the side of the bed or under it. Maybe Jackson had kicked it under when he left, god knows she didn't put it past him.

The thought made her freeze. Jackson… The memories of the night before came back to her in the tired haze of her mind, passing through her eyes as if she was reliving them again. She remembered him. His arms as he carried her to bed. The way his eyes had looked at her when he had kneeled beside her, how blue they had been. She had been so docile, so vulnerable, she didn't even fight him. He could have killed her or done any number of things to her, but he hadn't. She was still here, in her home, in one piece. And that was the most amazing thing of all.

But where was he? Did he leave her? What did this all mean?

"I don't think you'll find anything on the floor Leese, though it is a wonderful view from up here," said a voice from behind her, that familiar slightly-raspy voice.

She gasped and turned around. There he was, looking at her bemused, dressed in slacks and a crisp suit jacket.

"I thought you left," she said, getting slowly up, not taking her eyes from his. That wasn't the comment she had in mind. Her real question was, what the hell was he doing back, in the daytime? This was new.

"I did, but I had to come back, make sure you weren't going to do anything crazy, like go to work."

"Are you keeping me hostage Jack? In my own home?"

"Please Leese, what can you possibly do for me in this state. Maybe I'd have you cough on anybody I wanted to kill but somehow, I don't think that would be too effective."

"Where did you put my phone?"

"I kept it in a safe place. You'll thank me for doing your rich guests a favor, after all I'm sure they would have a fine lawsuit against you if they discovered that you got them sick, especially when they noticed that less than attractive cough."

At any other time, Lisa might have considered that to be a valid idea, but at that moment, she was too enraged to think about that. The bastard, what right did he have telling her what to do?

"And how do you expect me to stay home if I can't call the hotel? If I just not show up without calling, they'll be worried. They've probably already tried to contact me. Did you think about that Jack, before you let me sleep this late?"

"Which is why, Leese, you are going to call them right now and tell them that you won't be coming in today," he calmly replied.

Suddenly, despite her better judgment, she flashbacked to the plane. The phone call… That voice he had used, the threats, how horrible it had been, how frightening, and how sick she had felt during the whole damn process. She backed away from him, remembering how much she had hated him then, and how much she hated him now.

"I'm not doing anything until you leave," injected as much venom in her raspy voice as she could, which was a lot, surprisingly.

"And therein lies the problem," he said, taking a seat on the bed as if they were just having a casual chat, something she didn't imagine them doing anytime soon, if ever. "I don't trust you not to go to work and you don't trust me not to kill you."

"Well, you've never given me any reasons to think otherwise," she replied, still standing.

"See, that's where you're wrong, ah," he said, catching her opening her mouth to retort, and probably insult in the process, "I've given you plenty of reasons these past few months. After all, I could have easily killed you or kidnapped you, or do any of those things considering how many times I came in and you were asleep."

"That doesn't prove anything Jack because we both know you wouldn't stoop to that level." Except when you're exceptionally pissed off, she thought to herself. Nope, she wasn't going to think about that instance.

"Thanks Leese, I would almost call that a compliment. But you're right." This comment caused Lisa to blink several times in surprise. She was right? Since when, according to Jackson, was she right? Who was this person and what the hell has he done with Jackson Rippner?

"Now," he continued, "considering we've been arguing back and forth for the last15 minutes, don't you think it would be a good idea to call the workplace? After all, you don't want the cops coming in here while you're sleeping."

She looked at him, incredulous. "You expect me to call them, 3 hours late, and say that I'm sick, I won't be able to come in today? Are you crazy? I have work I need to do and things I need to oversee and you're asking me to just stay home and play games with you?"

Wouldn't that be fun, he thought to himself, which made him smirk. "For the second time Leese, you're absolutely right, that's a record. But consider it like this, you'll thank me later when you get better. After all, like I said, if you're no use to me in this condition, you're definitely no use to anybody."

"How do I know this isn't one of your tricks Jack?" she asked, still filled to the brim with skepticism.

"Because it isn't," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It was so simple and yet, she couldn't find any way to retort it. She hated being sick, the simplest things were getting her stumped and she didn't like it one bit.

If Lisa was to look at this moment in retrospect, she probably would not realize why in the hell she did this next thing. She would probably say that it was the drugs, and the fact that she was still exhausted and the prospect of staying home the entire day and sleeping was entirely too inviting.

"Give me my cell phone," she said. She didn't consider this an act of surrendering. The logical part of her mind knew the wisdom behind Jackson's suggestion and her body was just crying for her to go back to sleep. What was the use in arguing? She was doing this for herself, not for him. Bastard.

Her words even caught Jackson by surprise, and that was not an easy thing to do. After all,

He reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it out to her. "I'm glad you're starting to see things my way. Again."

She only glared at him as she took the phone, being careful not to touch his hand. "I'm doing this because I feel like shit, not because of you."

You just keep telling yourself that Leese, he thought to himself as she prepared to dial. He could see her hesitation. And for a sliver of a moment, he wondered. Was she going to do what part of him suspected? Would she call for help? Would she really be willing to throw away all those nights of progress? He hoped that his unabashed trust of her would lead her to respond in kind. If she didn't…he didn't have a good plan if she didn't. Just like how he didn't have a good plan when she lied during a very similar circumstance.

He was willing to admit now that a head-butt probably hadn't been the best way to respond to her deception, but it had seemed like the best course of action at the time.

Amazing how one phone call can represent so many things, he thought to himself. Then again, that seemed to be the story of their relationship, with its complicated dimensions and mind games. She was dialing.

She was surprised when he handed her the phone without question. It was almost he trusted her not to betray him, just like that first instance on the plane… She could do the same thing, and trust Cynthia to know that something is wrong, maybe even send help. After all, she had a means of escape, and it seems so easy to just call for help.

But, was it the right thing to do? Would he keep his word and not harm her? Were they at that stage already where the trust issues were starting to disappear? But that meant forgiveness, and she wasn't sure if she was at the point yet.

But…if she was to lie to him again, what would he do? Was it worth it?

So many questions, she couldn't sort it out… And it made her head hurt to an almost obscene degree.

What to do…

She placed the phone on her ear, looking at her feet as she did so.

"Hi Cynthia, it's Lisa. I'm sorry for calling you this late, I overslept. Listen, I don't think I'll be able to come in today. I'm not feeling too well. Yes, it's that cold, I know I sound terrible. Has it been busy this morning? No? Alright, I'm going to be in bed all day today and hopefully, I'll be able to come in tomorrow. If you need me for anything, feel free to call my cell. I'm sorry for dropping the ball on you this late, I know how busy you are. Thanks Cynthia, I really appreciate it."

"I hope you feel better," Cynthia said over the phone, still sounding concerned. "Drink plenty of fluids and get a lot of rest. Don't worry about the hotel, it'll still be here when you feel better"

"Thanks a lot, I'll see you." She sat down on the bed and leaned against the pillows, closing her eyes. Her phone was still in her hands but it feels as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had the whole day, just to sleep. Despite it being Jackson's idea, she actually looked forward to it. And she hoped, as she laid there, virtually defenseless, while he looked at her, that he would keep his end of the bargain too. If not…she wasn't so sure. Then again, when it came to him, she almost never was.

"Now, see how easy that was?" His voice said to her, she could hear the smugness in it.

"Shut up Jack."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the relatively short chapter. It felt right to end it here and it seemed like a good direction to take their direction, albeit the relative smallness of the gesture. Hopefully, everyone was in character and I haven't lost my touch after a year. Please review. 


	10. It's a Start

A/N: I'm sorry. This chapter was a lot later in coming than I thought it would be. I had to go back and rework the outline of the story to take into accounts the new direction that I have taken this story. Let's just say that it's gotten quite a bit longer than I originally planned it. These characters, once you start writing them, they just take a mind of their own. Hopefully, everyone enjoys this next part, in which Jackson plays (or attempts to play) Florence Nightengale.

* * *

One of the most wonderful things about being a manager was that there was no one there to chastise you for missing a day or two off of work for one reason or another. Lisa, with her honest work ethic, had never been one to take advantage of that privilege. In fact, ever since her graduation from college and the time she started working, she had rarely, if ever, taken a personal day (excluding that obvious weekend with her grandmother's funeral). But as she sat there, in her present state, feeling like she was coughing up a lung, she felt that perhaps, sick days weren't so bad and sometimes, probably even necessary. 

It was nearly sundown before she finally awoke again. And what greeted her was the unpleasant rumbling of her stomach. This was a dilemma. Get up and go get some food, or stay in bed and try to go back to sleep. Sadly, she didn't feel sleepy and the only thing she had had that day was a few sips from a bowl of soup and that was hardly considered a proper meal.

She recalled setting her cell phone down after that phone call, and seeing Jackson's approving look. There had been that voice inside her head, yelling at her for giving in so easily.

"I didn't do it for you," she said immediately, as if to justify her actions even to herself, driving away the voice that said something was coming, that Jackson was not to be trusted, that she had once again fallen into a hole. This time, she wasn't sure how she was going to dig herself out.

"You keep telling yourself that Leese," he replied with that all-knowing smirk of his, and it took all of Lisa's strength not to sit up and smack it off of him. Then again, considering how crappy she felt, it was probably not the best way to go, she didn't think she could physically fight him that day.

Well, one second thought, maybe she could; though she wasn't sure if she would win.

He then sat up and walked out of her room. She leaned forward, craning her neck to see where he was headed (hopefully away, far far away).

But to her surprise, she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. What in the world was he doing? Her answer came back a few minutes later with a tray that had a bowl of soup, a glass of orange juice, and cough syrup. Immediately, she felt her defenses rising again.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing you breakfast. Well actually, brunch since it is close to noon," he replied, in that same tone that he had used last night, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, leaving out their volatile history. It was as if they had always been friends and this was something that he was doing for her because it was the decent and right thing to do. But Lisa knew better. They weren't friends and this was not natural for them, at all.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, utterly bewildered. There had to be a catch. Then again, she doubts that he would tell her what that catch was.

"Why do you keep asking useless questions?" He set the tray down on her lap.

She was trapped.

How did he know where to find her dinner tray? And her silverware? Damn it, there was no knife.

"I wouldn't keep asking questions if you would just give me a straight answer."

"I'll give you a straight answer when you ask the right question."

_And what was the right question?_ She couldn't help but wonder.

"This isn't a game Jack." She had to clear her throat to get that out, she was using it too much and could feel the strain. This was definitely not the time for verbal sparring.

"Never said it was."

"Why haven't you tried to kill me yet?"

"Are you always so talkative in the morning? No wonder you work at a hotel."

"Answer the question Jack," she said, half angry, half frustrated. This made her cough again, profusely. Damn it, a cough drop would be great right now.

"Which one, you've asked so many I lost track." That damn smirk. She wanted to slap him across the face. Or better, push his face into the soup. Or both.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" Was the only thing she could say. There had to be a better word to describe him. Bastard sounded too tame in comparison.

"So I've heard. Now stop arguing and eat your soup before it gets cold." She only stared at him angrily, her arms folded against her chest, the soup untouched. "Why Leese, I didn't know that you were the type to condone such childish behavior."

She chose to continue glaring at him. "I'm not doing anything until I get an explanation."

"Alright then, if you want to be a child, I can treat you like one." With that, he picked up the spoon, dipped it within the soup, and raised the spoon to her lips. "Now open up."

"How do I know that it's not poisoned?"

"Leese, despite your negative opinions of me, I'm not that sneaky."

"Really? I beg to differ."

"Well, I only play dirty when my opponent does. And I consider a pen in the throat when I'm not looking, a very dirty thing. So I reacted accordingly. Quid pro quo, Leese."

She continued to firmly keep her mouth closed and her face turned. He placed the spoon back into the bowl.

"But, seeing as you're not going to eat it anytime soon, I'll just leave it here. I have work to do and despite the very stimulating company, don't have time to hang out here." He then took the spoon he was offering and put it in his own mouth. "Mm, still good. I'll see you later Leese." He stood up and walked out of the room, not looking back, nonchalant, as if it had all just been a social visit, as if he could come and go as he pleased. She did not move but watched his retreating form. When she heard the door open and close, she fell back against her headboard.

Jackson had been here. And he would be back, she knew it. And she was not dead, nor injured.

And he, her enemy (up until recently), had brought her soup. It was almost a laughable had she not been sick. Her mind whirled in confusion. Her stomach growled.

Tentatively, she took the spoon lying in the bowl and, hesitating for a moment, brought it to her lips. And it was good, she liked tomato basil. And she cursed him for knowing that. Damn his tomato soup. Damn his sea breezes. Damn his eyes. Putting her face in her hands, she gave a muffled scream, the best her sore throat could make.

Then, she went back to the soup. As she did ate, she contemplated what "work" Jackson had to do. She was willing to bet money that it was the unsavory kind, the kind that involved threats and head-butts probably. _And a knife. _

Lisa looked at the bowl of soup, stopping abruptly. It looked like blood…and realized the hands which brought her this were the same that could inflict so much pain and blood. And had done so, to her, not so long ago. He had almost killed an entire family, and she could guess that he had killed a whole lot more since that time.

Suddenly, her appetite was gone. In fact, that stark realization made her feel even sicker. She slowly put the tray away, got up and walked out to her kitchen, hesitating before pouring the remaining soup into the sink. Then, despite having nothing in her stomach that morning, she threw up as well.

And she was horribly reminded of a certain airplane bathroom. She felt the burning in the throat and rinsed out her mouth.

No, if she was going to get better, she was going to do it without his help. There was no way she was letting herself owe Jackson anything. And so, without a bite to eat that morning, Lisa had gone back to her bed and sank into an uneasy, but much needed, sleep, her stomach empty but thankfully, not hungry.

Now, as she woke up again, the bowl of soup seemed like such an incredibly long time ago. She almost regretted pouring it all away but no, she resolutely decided, it had been the right thing to do. Yet, that didn't solve the hunger problem. And cooking did not seem to be an option, not in this state. What to do…what to do…

Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She glared at it. Was it him? Did she want to find out? She picked it up, relieved when she saw the caller ID.

She pressed the phone to her ear. "Hi dad," she cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too raspy.

"I called your hotel and they said you were sick, are you alright honey?" She could hear the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine, it's just a cold." She was surprised with how congested she sounded. It was a good thing she had taken a sick day today. Thanks to Jac - No, she mentally shook herself, she was not thinking about him right now.

"You sound terrible honey, do you want me to come over? You know you shouldn't be alone when you're sick."

Lisa couldn't help but smile. She was almost 30 now and he still treated her like she was 10. Sometimes, it annoyed her and she had to remind him that she was grown up and able to take care of herself. But, at the moment, that concern comforted her. It made her wish that she was young again, and that her parents were in the next room in case she needed them. The last time she had had that feeling was after the incident, when they had both almost…

"I know, dad," she said, forcing herself to break that train of thought. It was okay, they had both gotten out of that alive.

"I'll come over and bring you dinner, you need a lot to eat if you're going to get better."

"No," she said, that old independent habit kicking in, "it'd be too much trouble, I can just order some take out."

And after, he had still kept her old room. She didn't mind as much now. Strange…

"You know oily food will only make it worst. Let me bring you over some stew, it'll be good for you." And she couldn't bring herself to say no (funny, that had been happening a lot that day). 30 minutes later, Lisa could hear her door opening and the familiar heavy footsteps of Joe Reisert. She got out of bed.

"Lisa, are you there?"

"I'm right here dad," she replied, greeting him in the living room.

He looked the same and somehow, it relieved her to see him. She didn't know exactly why, though she had an idea. He was safe. She let out a breath.

"Jesus! What in the world are you doing up, you're supposed to be in bed." He carried a large bag and she could tell that there was probably enough food to last her for a few days. And that was comforting too.

"I was just seeing if you needed help."

"Of course I don't, get back to bed. I can take care of it."

"The bowls are in the bottom cupboard and-"

"I know where everything is, I have been over here before. Now get back into bed."

Lisa had nothing to do except turn back on her heels and go back to her room. But, she hung around the doorway, looking into the kitchen to make sure that he found everything.

"Lisa?" his voice called her from the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"Where do you keep your tray?"

"Bottom left, right next to the pots and pans."

"Where the…can't seem to find it," she could hear him muttering to himself, "Ah! There it is." Jackson had known where to find it. How had he known? She didn't want to think about it, it made her feel uncomfortable.

She placed her palm to her warm forehead, feeling dizzy all over again. It was time to go stumbling back to bed. A few minutes later, she was greeted by her dad carrying a tray of hot stew and juice. "There you are princess," he said, placing it on her lap.

She couldn't smell the stew but she could tell it was tasty, it sure looked like it to her hungry stomach. Picking up the spoon from the bowl, she raised it to her lips and then, for a second, hesitated, looking at it. The situation felt eerily familiar, almost like déjà vu.

That morning…they even have the same initials.

"Is everything all right honey?" came the voice of her dad, interrupting her train of thought.

"Huh?" she looked up at him, and saw his quizzical expression. What would he think if he knew that Jackson had brought her breakfast that morning? Somehow, the thought of that made a very unbecoming snort come out of her. The whole situation, all of it, was sadly comical, in an untoward way.

_God, I have a warped sense of humor. _"I'm fine dad," she managed to say without bursting into giggles at the absurdity of it all.

* * *

She didn't know what time it was when she woke up again that night. All she knew was that it was hot, way too hot. She moaned, pushing away her stifling blanket. 

Then, there was a hand. It pressed itself into her forehead.

"Dad?" she managed to croak out. That was funny, she thought he had gone home… He had offered to take her back home. But she had decided against it, though not without her own share of personal conflict. Then again, nowhere was safe, not really. And she was not going to bring her dad into this situation.

"Not quite Leese," said a raspy voice that only belonged to one person. Of course.

"What?" Her eyes squinted open, but it was too dark, she couldn't see anything. Her eyes adjusted and-

"Shhh…" he hushed. He was silhouetted against the light from the window. She couldn't see his face. "You're burning up."

She tried turning her face away, to get away from his hand and its heat, as well as from the person himself. Damn it, why was he back? Lisa couldn't fight him right then, he knew that. "No…get away from me," she groaned, trying to swat his hands away. What was he going to do to her?

"All this stubbornness isn't going to help you get better."

"I don't need your help," she whispered. She turned over, trying her best to hide from him, despite how hot she felt. No, she was going to get through this without any help from him.

"Why do you lie, I hate it when you do," came his reply as he turned her over, onto her back, despite her protest. It was almost forceful and yet, there was still a touch of gentleness. Strange combination.

There was the sound of water dripping and a cool cloth was pressed against her forehead.

What was intended as a harsh retort came out only as a sigh as she felt herself cooling, the heat evaporating, as if being fanned away. All that she could feel was the bliss of the coldness as it moved softly against her face…and there was nothing to do but lay there, prone, as if on a cloud, where the only thing that existed was that coolness and Jackson's hand, taking away the unbearable heat. That voice in her head, exhausted from arguing and shouting, fell silent and still. And she felt herself relaxing. There was no protest.

The coolness traveled everywhere, on her cheek, her neck, on her collarbone under the pajama shirt she wore. And she whimpered when he stopped suddenly, as if hesitating. Then, the hand was gone and she felt herself utter a protest. She wanted to grab his hand as if left her, and that logical voice inside her head was too tired to argue against that thought. There was the dripping of water and a sigh from her lips as he applied the newly moistened cloth to her face again and repeated his previous motion.

"There…" he said, his voice surprisingly soft. She didn't mind it so much then and was on some level, surprised that she didn't. "How does that feel?"

Sighing, she breathed, "Good." It felt heavenly but that word was missing from her vocabulary at that moment. Damn it.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill me yet," she couldn't help but mumble underneath his continuing ministrations.

"When you get to know me, you'll find that I'm not that bad," he replied in that soft voice again, though now tinged with a hint of his trademark snark.

Her only reply came as a murmur as she felt herself being lost in the haze of sleep again, lulled by his gentle hand as if by a lullaby. Of its own volition, seemingly, one of her hand reached up and touched his, pressing his palm closer to cheek, giving it a squeeze. It felt nice.

"Thank you," she whispered before she succumbed to slumber.

She did not remove her hand and Jackson sat there, watching her, keeping his hand in place.

It was not much, but it was definitely a start. The start of what was the important question.

* * *

A/N: I realized, looking over the story from the beginning, that I never really got a chance to address the fact that Lisa had been accepting an assassin into her home and allowing him to get under her skin again. This chapter was the best way to finally start addressing that issue, which I feel is not tackled enough in the fandom. After all, Lisa, with her upstanding, type-A personality wouldn't be who she was if she didn't analyze every aspect of this pseudo-relationship. But enough of that, more to come soon, I promise, hopefully before I start school again! In the meantime, R&R. 


End file.
